Crazy Like A Fox
by PsychoticSushi
Summary: Cody's mission's a bit different from the ones he's dealt with thus far in that he's helping a mental ward patient. She's random, crazy, totally insane. But maybe a little insanity's healthy for you. And here comes Remy Wilson with a huge dose of it.
1. They're Coming To Take Me Away, HA HA!

**Yeah.**

**I watched the A-Team for the first time recently, and Murdoch somehow inspired me to write this fic. Don't ask me how, I'll NEVER understand. XD**

**Either way, this first chapp might be a little crappy, since I'm still trying to figure out how to properly master Cody's personality (it's been forever since I saw the movies, so what, sue me why don't you.)**

**Any advice on how to improve that (if it needs improving, which I'm sure it does in one way or another. Damn Cody Banks, making things so difficult on me), please don't hesitate to tell me.**

**...Nicely. You'll get cookies. XD**

**Well, anyway. I saw there was only one Cody Banks OC story, and it was pretty short, and I noticed all these stories on here (since there're only 6 not counting mine) mainly deal with (arguably) sane people.**

**...Whatever happened to good old reckless, lack-of-self-preservation crazies?**

**Exactly. You know you wanna know how crazy this fic might get. :D**

**Well, read. Review. ENJOOOY! :D**

* * *

Cody sighed heavily as he entered the agency, his nose practically touching his coffee. He had heard a lot of times from fellow agents that smelling it woke you up better.

So far? He still felt like crap.

You'd think after all the missions he'd been on, and the two summers he'd spent at camp, he'd be used to the daily grind of being a secret agent.

Then again, Cody supposed going out with Nicki Stevenson – the hottest chick in the tenth grade – last night had kind of shot his curfew to hell.

How he managed to land a date with her in the first place, he had no idea. He also had no idea what had happened in the movie they saw –

"Banks, get your nose out of that coffee before you burn it off," Monica advised before sipping her own Starbucks, standing with a hand on her hip on the other side of the door he'd opened.

Man, he had spaced out again.

_Since when have I started opening doors mid-spaceout? ...Usually I run into them, if anything... Whatever._

"Have a seat," she added, a file now in her hand.

Cody did so, hoping he wouldn't fall asleep while she was talking. "What've we got this time?" he asked somewhat warily.

The last mission had left him with a ton of mosquito bites and a few stitches on his head, and that was AFTER his broken leg had just healed.

Monica opened her mouth to speak, but then the door opened, and in walked The Director. She and Cody stood up, and he shook hands with them both. "Long time no see, Cody. This case is highly sensitive, and I wanted to make sure you got all the information."

He groaned inwardly. _Great. More bruises than usual in this one, I can just tell._ Not that a mission never included bruises, but he knew already by the way their jaws were set and their foreheads were creased that this one was going to be a major pain in his a-

"This mission cannot afford _any _mishaps, Banks," The Director started as Monica opened her file and laid some photos out on the stainless-steel desk in front of him.

_Can they ever?_

"One of our affiliates in New Orleans, a huge provider of our governmental funds, has a bit of a problem."

_Money can't buy happiness, I guess, _Cody thought with a slight smirk at how cynical he was this morning before looking at the photos Monica had spread out.

In them was a girl about his age doing various things, usually walking around outside or running laps on a track – some were in black-and-white, some in color. The color ones revealed she had bright auburn hair and dark eyes. Her skin looked kind of sallow, almost like she was sick, and the dark circles under her eyes only made her look sicker. Almost like she'd been inside for way too long.

Even though the majority of the pictures were taken outside. That was when Cody noticed the building in the background of the pictures.

"...You're reading that correctly," Monica said before he had even finished reading the name of the building.

"Meet Remy Wilson, middle child of Fred Wilson. Fred's the CEO and founder of Wilson Enterprises. She's been a patient in a psychiatric hospital for almost a year."

"...Um...How to put this...Why're you so worried about it? Is she so crazy she'll _break out _or something?"

The Director chuckled. "Actually, it's the exact opposite. We need you to _help _break her out."

"...Huh?" Cody blurted, making them both sigh.

"Her father had her put there for her mental state, but we view her a bit differently. She may be a little...shall we say, _unbalanced _about certain things, but...she has great potential. We need to get her out of that facility without alerting her family.

"See, we aren't the only ones seeking her out. Her father's company handles the bank accounts of some of the richest people in not only the Continental US, but some of Europe. And it's so far pretty successful – holding a Wilson for ransom would tip the status quo quite a bit for us all, not just Fred Wilson. And which Wilson kid would be the best to snatch? The one locked up in a mental hospital, of course. Do you follow?"

Honestly, Cody didn't really see what the big deal was. He figured they were overreacting, like they loved to do these days. But like he had a real say in the matter.

"Yeah, I follow."

"Good. Go see Kumar, I'm sure your gear's ready by now."

Cody sighed heavily. "...I still don't get that Aston Martin, do I?"

"No, but you don't get a retainer this time, either."

He made a point of drinking his coffee while Monica and The Director smirked at Kumar's comment. "See, Banks? I'm so excited about your gadgets, I came to you for once!"

_**

* * *

**_

_**MEANWHILE****...**_

Remy held up her masterpiece with pride after being hunched over it for three hours – a pocket knife made out of paper clips, Spearmint gum, a neon shoelace, and a couple strands of her roommate's hair (per her request).

"Voila!"

Abby – her roomie – clapped gleefully, laughing uncontrollably. "My DNA's in that! _Mine_!" Remy pouted to herself. "...I wish I'd put my _own _DNA on it."

"No way, MY hair only!"

"...What about spitting, can I spit on it?"

Abby shrugged, so Remy did just that. She spit all over it, knowing Abby would tell anyone else who tried to touch it that she had done it. Now they'd _never _touch it.

The fellow patients thought Remy's insanity was contagious. See, Remy had figured out within a few weeks of being in the hospital that she was on a different level of insanity than the others.

While some of them were bipolar, or had some other type of mental illness, or something like that, Remy was more of a just plain reckless and stupid kind of insane.

She considered her daily ritual of disguising herself as a fellow nurse, or a fellow doctor, or another patient, as child's play.

The last time she'd cooked something at home, she'd used lighter fluid for a non-stick cooking spray to add some "good, old-fashioned Creole zest".

Her whole time spent here had been used to make random gadgets, or weapons, or props for her disguises.

Sometimes she wrote.

Sometimes she sang and danced, purposely getting the other patients to join in just to piss the orderlies off.

And sometimes she demanded a straightjacket just so she could try for hours on end to get herself out of it. Once, she almost succeeded, but then they made her take it off since it was the only one left and they had a patient suffering from seizures out on the east wing.

Often, the people in charge gave her quite a bit of leeway. They knew to do otherwise was a real dumbass move on their part.

Acting crazy was the only thing that kept her sane; how ironic, right?

Remy looked out the window longingly. In exchange for all the leeway _inside_, they wouldn't let her go _outside _unsupervised.

So she hadn't been outside in over five months, preferring to be either outside alone or not outside at all. Her appearance was suffering from it, she could tell. Her skin had been nice and radiant, sun-kissed, before she was admitted.

Not anymore. Now it just looked about as sick as everyone thought her head was.

She had a feeling they'd perform a lobotomy on her if they could, just out of curiosity to see what could make people as complex as she was.

She could be so complex, she didn't even get _herself _sometimes.

She was _too _complex – that was the only explanation Remy could think of as to why she turned down her first and maybe only ticket out of the psych ward.

It happened not long after she had finished her pocketknife masterpiece. Dinner was going to be ready in about an hour, and she had just walked out of her latest group therapy session when a nurse ran over to her.

"Remy Wilson? Doctor Klein wants to see you in his office."

Immediately, she started racking her brain, wondering if they'd found her latest gadget. She wasn't even allowed to have a _spork_, for Pete's sake, so if they found out she had a made-from-scratch pocketknife...

Then she realized that if they had found _that_, they would've seen what _else _she was stashing under her bed, and then she'd be in REAL huge crap.

Needless to say, her knees were shaky by the time she managed to shuffle her way to his office. Dr. Klein was sitting behind his desk with his fingers pressed together, as per usual, and there was a guy in one of the two chairs placed on the other side of her desk.

Her mom and dad had sat in those chairs not too long ago, discussing her admission into the hospital.

"Remy, take a seat," he said warmly. She eyed the guy in the other chair about as suspiciously and carefully as he was eyeing her.

She plopped rather ungracefully into the chair, folding her arms across her middle and frowning almost immediately. "...'Sup."

He ignored that, used to her by now. "How are ya, Remy?"

"Why?"

"'Cause I asked nicely."

"...I'm fine."

"And how're your group sessions going?"

"Better than my sessions with you."

"Excellent."

Without any further warning, Remy stroked an imaginary beard underneath her chin while donning a British accent. "Mmm, indeed. I concur completely, old chap."

"Ahh, jolly good."

It was quite obvious the new kid on the block was completely confused by how easily Dr. Klein and herself were interacting, but that's the price one paid for being new.

"Okay, drop the tomfoolery," she said suddenly, jerking her thumb at the guy to her right. Guy In Question jumped at the sudden movement. "Who's _this _stiff?"

"He's come to take you home."

She stared at him dubiously. "...Erm...What?"

"You're free to leave."

"Come again?"

"Remy, honestly, clean out your ears. This is a hospital, for crying out loud, we're supposed to promote good health."

She narrowed her eyes. "Now's not the time for jokes, Doc. What the hell do you _mean _I'm 'free to leave'? How come I wasn't 'free to leave' when I wanted to?"

"Because you weren't ready. Now you are."

She scoffed. "Says who, a few Ben Franklins?"

The guy to her right paled slightly at that, but Dr. Klein was unfazed. As usual. He simply returned to pressing his fingers together. "Go ahead, Remy. Take a few minutes to compose yourself, go pack your stuff, and with a snip of our scissors on your hospital bracelet, you're officially released."

The whole room was dead silent for a good ten minutes, and she could practically feel the guy to her right trying not to squirm. She eyed him occasionally out of the corner of her eye.

He had dark blonde hair, almost brown, with admittedly nice blue eyes. Not that nice eyes got you very far in life.

He couldn't be much older than her, if he was older at all. So what the hell was he doing here coming to get her?

_An intern for dad's bank, maybe...But...I highly doubt it...What in the name of Sam Hill..._

Suddenly, so abruptly it startled even Dr. Klein, Remy whirled in her seat to look at the guy. "Lookie here, bucko. I dunno why you're here, but I'm _not _leaving. Especially not with some stranger. Got me?"

"Remy –"

"Doc, this is the one place I have a say-so in. I'm staying. And nothing you can say or do'll convince me otherwise."

"...How about a cookie?"

"No."

"Two cookies?"

"THAT TRICK _MAY _HAVE WORKED WITH A ROOM TO MYSELF, BUT IT WON'T WORK _THIS TIME_!" she shouted before turning her glare back onto the other guy.

"Sorry for your trouble, but I'm not comin'. Bye, now," she said simply before standing up and stomping off.

* * *

Dr. Klein smiled at Cody apologetically as he gaped at her back. "...Remy's a bit...stubborn."

"Is there any way we can just _force _her outta here?" Cody asked somewhat desperately, feeling a little uneasy.

The way she'd glared at him, it had made him feel like he'd been chewed out by her without even realizing it. And the way she'd mentioned bribery made her wonder if she'd seen them exchange some money to get her out of the psych ward a bit early.

Cody watched her stomp down the hall as the doctor spoke, Remy's white pajama pants swishing in time with her white-slippered movements as she continued to walk at a furious pace before turning a corner abruptly, her messy red hair flying every which way as she shook her head angrily.

"Technically? No. I've already signed the forms saying I find her to be clinically sane, meaning as of twenty minutes ago, she's here of her own will. And we don't force anyone out until they're ready; it's our policy."

"...Can't we just make an exception for this one? If she doesn't leave, she's just endangering herself," he protested.

Dr. Klein chuckled, straightening his already-straight stack of papers before putting them in a file stamped "**Wilson, Remy Michelle**".

"Tell you what, kid. Why don't _you _try talkin' some sense into her? If you can get her to willingly leave the hospital grounds – without ripping your hair out in frustration would be a miracle – then she's free to go. Otherwise, it's a no-go. We'll get sued for everything we've got if she goes whining to her daddy about being forced out of the mental ward."

The way he phrased it left Cody with no choice but to chuckle at the sheer irony of that statement – whining about being forced out of the mental ward.

"...Why doesn't she want to leave, anyways? What's so great about _this place _– no offense," he said quickly.

The doctor grinned. "Didn't you hear her? She runs the show around here. See, Mr. Banks, there's something you should realize right off the bat about Remy Wilson. She's reckless and insane, sure, but she's crazy like a fox, too. And it's best to _let _her run the show. Otherwise, she'll eat you alive. ...Believe me, I should know. She poured paprika on my arm when I dozed off at my desk and poked me with a fork until I woke up, then she threatened to light my arm on fire and eat it toasted if I didn't make sure she got her Pop-Tarts every morning without fail."

Cody shook his head in disbelief. What kind of place _was _this where the patients were allowed to roam wherever they wanted – much less in the doctors' offices at night – anyway?

Then he sighed as the doctor laughed at him as he went down the hallway to find her room. "Room 138 B, on the right," he called out. "Good luck! ...You'll need it."

Cody sighed again, shaking his head and wishing he had some more coffee – or better yet, an energy drink. "I _knew _I shoulda put my phone on silent this morning..."


	2. Round One

**Back! With Chapter Deux! ...That's 2 in French.**

**It's okay to be amazed.**

**I know, it's pretty impressive. **

**Welp, that's all I've gotta say. Read, review, ENJOY! :D**

* * *

Cody walked as quickly as possible through the hospital's halls, trying not to let the maniacal laughter and incoherent babbling register in his mind.

_How could anyone want to **stay** in a place like this? Even if it **does** offer so much leeway...wouldn't it be better to be out on your own?_

Then again, how old was Remy? Could she even be old enough to live on her own anyway? She couldn't be much older than he was...he could've sworn her file said sixteen, but like hell he actually read that thing.

His many past missions had made it clear to him that he did best when he totally winged it – letting facts jotted down with smudgy ink in the CIA's files or in doctor's offices usually just got in the way of him seeing things clearly.

"What room did he say again? It had a 'B'...I think it was either...either...Oh, right. Either 136 or 138 B. Yeah...I think it was 136," he muttered to himself as he approached the door to room 136 B.

And as soon as he opened the door, he deduced that neither the forty-ish-looking man rocking back and forth in the corner nor the twenty-at-best guy in the straightjacket were Remy.

"Hey! Hey mister! Have you seen my spork?" the guy in the straightjacket asked in a surprisingly high voice.

The man in the corner just started laughing a gleeful laugh, clapping his hands. "You remind me of my pet monkey. Back from when I was hunting in the African jungle with Good Ole Teddy. Oscar, your name was. I missed ya so much, Oscar! ...Hehehehe...Oscar...You loved to eat my peanut shells...hehehe..."

Cody smiled and laughed nervously, slowly shutting the door. "...Room 138 B it is."

* * *

When he opened the door, he knew it was the right one. How? Because he was greeted by the sight of her standing on one foot and shouting some kind of ninja yell.

"KI-YAAAA! YOUR SPIT IS NO MATCH FOR MY TOEJAM!" she shouted, looking to her left. Cody poked his head in and saw another girl, at least five years older than him and Remy, squatting and holding out her arms.

"...What're you doing?" he asked them with honest curiosity. Remy stiffened before whirling around to look at him. Though he'd been able to see the anxiety and nervousness in the way she reacted to his voice, her expression was one of total comfortablity and lack of interest.

"...Oh. It's you. 'Sup?"

"Nothin' much, just came looking for you."

"That's cool. We're being ninjas."

"...Ninjas?"

"Yeah, those guys in black that have sharp swords and pretty stars!" the other girl practically shouted as she twitched a little. She continued to squat with her arms out while staring up at him. "Dontchya know a ninja when you see one? Remy, this intruder be stooooopid!" she exclaimed, laughing as if she'd just told the funniest joke in the world.

Something about the way the girl talked and laughed sounded familiar to him, and it sounded kind of weird, but he just couldn't place it.

Remy looked at the girl, then at him. "...Abby, keep honing your ninja skills. I'll be back in a jiffy, alright?" she said, not looking away from Cody.

"Take the loser with you," she said simply, sticking out her tongue in concentration as she started doing knee-squats. Remy looked at the door pointedly, and he nodded, going out into the hall. Before they'd even left the room, Abby had moved on to jumping-jacks.

* * *

Remy shut the door behind them and folded her arms – just like she had in the office – as she scrutinized him some more. He scrutinized her right back.

"...You wanted something?" she snapped, making him jump. _And here I thought for sure I was winning...I didn't even blink...!_

Yet the way she said it made it quite clear he had lost, so he nodded. "Yeah, I do. I want _you_. T-To leave the hospital," he added quickly, determined not to let the heat surge up to his face at his bad choice of words.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh _really_. Why?"

"Well, I didn't come here just to have you say no."

"Well, I didn't stay here for a year just to have one of dad's little errand-boys bail me out just like that. I'll _work_ for it, thank you."

"I'm not your dad's little errand-boy."

"...Okay, so you're one of his..._big_ errand-boys?"

He sighed exasperatedly. "This is going nowhere."

"Then why don't you just _leave_?" she snapped. He narrowed his eyes. "...Maybe I _will_."

"Good. Don't let the double-doors hit your ass on the way out."

"I'll make sure they don't."

"Awesome. Bye now."

He sighed woefully and shook his head. "You're _sure_ you don't wanna leave? You like this loony bin?"

Judging by the way her eyes flashed for just a split second, that was a bad choice of words.

"...In this hospital, I've met five Abe Lincolns, fourteen Roosevelts, two Marilyn Monroes, and a Henry the Eighth. Abby, my roommate, has slight Down Syndrome along with the Tourette's that got her here. I'm an insomniatic pyromaniac with slight OCD and Multiple-Personality Disorder. Which is basically a lot of fancy names for a teenager who has weird sleeping habits, argues with herself, and likes fire. _And_ has to count certain things and have objects or clothes in certain places. So technically speaking, I don't _particularly_ like it here, because I don't _belong_ here. But you wanna know something, kiddo? I'll bet my right arm that all those Lincolns and Roosevelts and Monroes are about a hundred times more real and kind and genuine than you or anyone else I'll have to deal with as soon as I go out...out _there_," she concluded hotly, her eyes darting towards a window as if the outside were some totally different world.

It was painfully obvious this would take longer than he thought. Cody sighed heavily before grinning at her. "Well, you're leaving eventually. So I'll just keep asking you until you do. When's that dinner of yours, ten, fifteen minutes?"

"Thirteen," she corrected in a voice that could cut steel.

"...See ya in thirteen minutes, then," he said cheerfully before turning on his heel and leaving without another word.

The grin stayed on his face as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He felt as if he'd just won.

* * *

Remy watched the guy leave for a few moments, hands on her hips, and finally huffed and went back in her room. She shut the door without a word, leaning against it. She couldn't help but smile to herself; for a total stranger, he'd dealt with her pretty well.

Was he really going to keep asking her until she left? In a way, she was sort of flattered. That was a level of stubbornness she loved to soar to on a daily basis.

Therefore, she liked the fact that he was willing to do that as well.

"...Number Two Ninja Rule: Never fr...fra...f-fraternize with the enemy," Abby said suddenly after a bit of difficulty. Remy glanced over at her, snapped out of her thoughts. "Hm?" _Did she just say fraternize? Or fratricide..._

She smiled mischievously as if catching Remy raiding the fridge after-hours in the kitchen. "Remy, you'd make a terrible ninja. Some random loser comes in here, you show him who's boss, and then you come back all gooooooogley-eyed!"

"I am NOT googley-eyed!" Remy exclaimed in dismay, throwing a pillow at Abby's head.

When Remy went to the cafeteria for dinner, she glanced every which way (discreetly, of course) but didn't see any sign of that guy. She let out a sigh of relief and slight annoyance. "People are such posers these days," she said with a shake of the head.

"Ain't that the truth, honey," Ruth said as she dumped a heap of mashed potatoes onto her tray. "She be preachin' to the choir," Janelle commented, letting some green beans plop onto Remy's tray as well.

"Evenin', ladies. How's it goin'?"

"Can't complain."

"_I_ can."

"We _know_ you can, Janie," Latoya called out from on down with the cauliflower casserole, making Janelle give her a rather special finger. Remy snorted a laugh before grabbing a bottled water and sitting in her usual spot; alone and in the far right corner. That way she could see everything and eat in peace.

She was busy stabbing her green beans and making sound effects ("Jab! Jab! Shrrk! Ahhh, no, please, I don't wanna die! Too bad, you shouldn't have taken my Butterfinger! AHHH, NO PLEAAAASE! MUAHAHAHA!") when she heard the scrape of the chair in front of her being scooted out.

And who should plop into it and scoot it up as loud as possible but the errand-boy from earlier. He scrutinized her from across the table, which made her pissed since that was HER job. "...Didn't anyone ever tell you you're not supposed to play with your food?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to not ask if a seat's taken before you sit in it?"

"Is this seat taken?"

"Yeah. Your ass is in it. I'd say it's pretty taken. Although some folks around here just pull chairs out from under someone they don't know."

"You one of them?"

"Nope. Although I was pulled out of my own chair my first few days here, but I doubt you care about that." She sighed and uncrossed her legs, digging in her white pajama pants for her wallet. "How much is my dad paying you?" she asked, not looking up as she counted her money.

"Your dad doesn't even know I'm here," he replied in a quiet voice, glancing around. She could see he was nervous, even with just her peripherals.

Remy stopped thumbing through her money, looking at him with raised eyebrows. "Oh _really_ now?"

"Really."

"Well, I _say_! By jove, I believe you've caught my attention, young man!" she exclaimed in a British accent, snapping her fingers. "In fact, just for not being another one of my dad's _maaaany_ brown noses, I think I'll come with you!"

"Really?" he asked hopefully, laughing with relief. Remy kicked him under the table for his stupidity, making him groan. "NO, you bumbling moron! Honestly, you shoulda seen that coming! I had some hope for you when you mentioned not giving up on making me leave this dump, but you just _totally_ ruined it for yourself. You'll have to convince me some other way now," she informed him.

He looked at her strange. "...Is this all...some kind of _game_ to you?"

"You bet your ass it is."

"You don't get it, do you?" he exclaimed in frustration, sighing and shaking his head while rubbing his temples.

Remy chuckled, sipping her water calmly. "To be fair, you're by far the best I've played with so far. I'll give ya that, kid."

"Remy Wilson, I'm about to tell you something I could get shot for sharing. But I guess there's no other way to get you to hurry your ass up and out that door. I work for the CIA, in a special junior operative unit. You're part of my mission. Someone's gonna try and take you, and I'm supposed to make sure that doesn't happen. The CIA wants you out of here. They know as much as you do that you don't belong in here."

Remy rolled her eyes. "Alright, James Bond, I'll for sure go with you _now_. You like your martinis shaken, don't you?"

He sighed exasperatedly again before leaning towards her on the table. "...What'll it take to get you outta here?" he asked in an even lower voice than before, obviously not wanting to be heard.

She narrowed her eyes. "A goddamn army."

He smirked to himself, leaning back in his chair so that it balanced on its two back legs – exactly how she'd been sitting this whole time. "Hey, stick around a little longer and you might get your wish. I don't know for sure, but I'm pretty sure they've got a whole team of mercenaries heading this way. Maybe _several_ teams. I imagine it'll be a madhouse once they hold everyone here hostage."

As much as she hated to admit it, he totally had her attention now. Something about the way he said it made it seem genuinely...well, genuine. He picked up her fork and started playing with her food she hadn't touched. "...I mean, sure, the police'll be down here and get everything straightened out. But I think after a few hours, a day tops, they'll find that among the possible casualties – these ARE mercenaries we're talking about – there's a girl missing. Remy Michelle Wilson. And you'll be sitting in a rat-infested...dank...damp...cold, dark basement. One crawling with spiders, too, I imagine. Bound to a chair. Gagged. No food or water. ...And no. Authority. Or say-so. Whatsoever," he concluded, leaning closer with every word for emphasis.

Remy gulped despite herself, and he smirked before leaning back in his chair. "So. You comin'?"

"No."

"Aw, why not?" he demanded to know, whining just a little.

"Because you annoy me," she said simply, drinking some more of her water. He glanced down at her food skeptically. "...That's all you got to eat? Potatoes and beans?"

"Way to change the subject, but yes. Have you SEEN what's in that line?"

He then tossed something at her face, and she caught it just in time. After a few moments of inspection, she realized it was a Snickers. "Have some real food."

She looked over at him indifferently. "...I like Butterfingers better."

He shrugged before jumping when a bell sounded. Remy sighed in relief. "Phew, finally. Playtime's over, kiddo, mummy's got a curfew. Adios, monsieur," she called out over her shoulder as she got up, threw her trash away, and headed for the door.

"I'LL SEE YOU TOMORROW, THEN!" he shouted, making everyone look at the two. Remy gave him The Finger without turning around, making the lunch ladies giggle and go "Oooooh!" while some of the fellow patients laughed at the guy's expense.

"Oooh, look at Miss Remy's hips, ya'll!"

"Shut up, Janelle!" Remy snapped, scowling slightly; she wasn't too proud of the fact that she'd tucked the Snickers into the waistband of her pajama pants before getting up from the table. _Hope he didn't notice._


End file.
